


Blades of Dust

by Schemilix



Category: Final Fantasy Tactics
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:30:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schemilix/pseuds/Schemilix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wiegraf actually believed in something, back before they beat the fight out of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blades of Dust

There are murmurs in the camp that night, murmurs of death and desertion. They, bloody and demoralised, have congregated in the mess tent, a clot of low-born fighters huddling at the fringes. 

Margriff’s face is dour, though it may simply be dirt from the day’s skirmish.

”This war has been still as a corpse for years now,” he says into his dinner. “What say you, Levigne?”

”I say it was stillborn and merely a way of keeping us in order. They send us forward first and they seem eternally surprised when we survive,” Gragoroth replies. “Just look at our name.”

That has Margriff laugh, mirthlessly. “Hnn. That we are. Half gone already. I barely know the enemy from my ally out there, my friend. We’re all filthy as swine at the end of it. Dead Men indeed.”

”That we may be, but do they not whisper that very name before a battle? Do they not see our banner - our faces - and clutch their weapons tighter?” A different voice. Margriff looks over his shoulder with a doubtful look, up into Wiegraf’s face. He stands over them looking as tired as they are.

”They call us pig-stubborn, quite sure of that,” Gragoroth says, with a graceless snort of amusement. “Who are we but sacrifices who refuse to lay down?”

Margriff nods. “Look at us now. What do we fight for?”

”I’ll tell you,” Wiegraf growls.

With that Wiegraf knocks his fist on the table for emphasis. The haggard warriors gathered around the table look up at the sound, and stay looking when Wiegraf spreads his arms and, calls to them,

“Ivalice! That is what we fight for. We could die tomorrow or today. Every moment we live is time stolen from the Gods themselves! Who else but we would defy them? We walk with death, we fear nothing! Who are we?” 

There is a pause as Wiegraf jumps up on the table, ignoring the dirty looks from men not of his own company. Margriff rolls his eyes.

”Your commander asks you a question! Who are we!”

”The Dead Men!” his company shout in unison. Gragoroth even puts his fist up.

And from the back, “And woman!”, then Milleuda’s shrill laughter.

”And woman too,” Wiegraf agrees, smiling. “We are the Dead Men and as close to a family as you sorry lot have left. Remember that when we cut those bastards down tomorrow.”


End file.
